


he thought me pretty

by PandaHero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, wow i sure love ginny and draco time to put them thru hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6181678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaHero/pseuds/PandaHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny and Draco have a talk; when everything is dark, and hot water fails to burn away the memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he thought me pretty

“That’s your fourth today,” Draco says, watching Ginny as she tip toes out of the prefects’ bathroom, her hair soaking wet and trailing water droplets on the floor. She visibly flinches, becoming rabbit-still as he draws nearer, all wide eyes and rushing heartbeats. The paintings murmur around them, curious as how the confrontation will play out.

When he’s close enough, Draco reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong,” he says, “Gin, tell me what’s wrong.”

Ginny goes rigid under his fingers, and he immediately backs off, watching as she rubs her shoulder as if trying to erase his touch.

She turns away from him, whispering into the dark of the corridor, “I can never be clean. Not anymore.”

Draco feels his stomach drop at her words, and he becomes so sick with sympathy that his hands begin to shake.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asks, voice small.

Ginny responds with a voice equally afraid. “Carrow,” she says. “He thought me pretty. His nails were sharp, sometimes I still feel them.”

It takes all his control not to vomit at those words. And even after settling his sickness he still has to talk himself down from throwing his fist into the nearest painting.

“That wasn’t your fault,” he assures her with a shaking voice, looking to Ginny as she turns back to face him.

He watches, helpless, as Ginny shakes her head and slowly sinks back against the wall, covering her eyes with the heels of her hands.

Draco moves to sit next to her, going just as slow as she had, and keeping a slight distance between them. He waits for her to look at him.

“Wolves are vicious,” he says, closing his eyes to the memory of cool fingers against his flushed skin.

“He made me out to be a wolf, Draco. He told me I devoured him with desire, said he only touched me ‘cause I made him.”

Draco curls his hands into fists, anger welling deep in his chest.

“Carrow was the wolf,” he spits, knuckles turning white. “Not you, never you. Neither of us were wolves.”

Ginny looks at him then, turning with hunched shoulders and wide eyes. “You too?” she whispers. Draco nods.

“When- When Voldemort lived in the manor,” he starts, “He often spoke with me.” His heart thrums in his chest, and he tears his eyes away from Ginny’s, shame crawling slick up his dry throat. “He told me I was a pretty boy, told me that I tempted him.”

He sees Ginny nod, her eyes fixated on him, big and worried and welling with tears.

“His hands were so cold.”

“I’m sorry.”

She takes his hand, soft as not startle him, and squeezes it. Draco notes, with some sense of nausea, that her hands are warm, raw and red from the hot water of her shower. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles and he slowly loses tension, heaving a sigh and turning to her with scared eyes.

“Draco,” she says. “I know sometimes, it feels as though you’re in a grave. I want you to know I will never hold the shovel.”

It takes a moment for the words to hit him, but when they do, he starts to cry. She lets him take his hand away to wipe his face, and sheds a few tears herself, shoulders shaking.

And they sit together ‘til the sun begins to rise.


End file.
